


Why Is It Always Wet In Derry?

by Raechyy



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 22:58:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15496632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raechyy/pseuds/Raechyy
Summary: You're part of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, and it's your job to find out why it's always wet in Derry. One Pennywise the dancing clown is going to help you find out.





	Why Is It Always Wet In Derry?

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I am not a clownfucker. I know nothing of IT in any guise but my beaut best pal is a clownfucker so this is for her <3
> 
> Filthy, nasty smut, dubcon, it's a good one if you're feeling like some nasty night reading. Enjoy!

_**Well**_ , you think, as you press the side of your hand against your brow, shielding your eyes from the unending downpour of warm rain falling in heavy sheets to assault your senses, _**they weren't wrong when they said Derry was a strange place**_.

You were insanely excited to begin your work here on the abnormal weather patterns that seemed only to plague this small town. A notable pattern had began emerging of extreme and violent weather systems happening every 27 years or so, and as part of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration's work on emergent weather patterns to predict future changes in national weather systems, you had been sent to investigate what was causing these extreme changes.

The drive here from the NOAA HQ in Maryland had been a fairly pleasant one, given that it was late in a hazy summer, a warm and relaxing interstate cruise that had taken you only two days. However, crossing the interstate boundary and into Derry, the weather changed suddenly. The clear blue skies filled with vicious black clouds that hammered down hot rain into the air, making everything uncomfortably warm and wet.

You arrive at the only place that had been available to stay in for travelers – a motel in desperate need of a facelift on the outside, but with surprisingly clean and inviting rooms. Having been used to spending government money on 5* establishments, a dingy motel was the last place

you wanted to be spending your time, but it looked like it was managed well, at least. It would hopefully seperate you from the unexplained weight of dread that had settled in your stomach. Perhaps it was due to the frightening weather, perhaps due to the trance-like state of all the adults you had came across in your time, or maybe the hollow eyes of children frightfully looking behind them as they scurried through town. Something just felt... _amiss_ , and you couldn't place what it was.

Your voice recordings from a full day of atmospheric observations had taken you way into the night as you transcripted them for your report. It is past two A.M. when you finally pull bleary eyes away from your laptop screen, sloping off for a well deserved shower. The water is blisteringly hot, melting away tensions in your muscles from two long days of driving. The strange unnerved feeling still weighs in your stomach, but you try to ignore it as you lather up with a delightful bubblegum scented shower gel.

" **Mmmm.** "

The low approving growl brings you out of your reverie as you yelp, stumbling in the sudsy shower tray and connecting with the cold wall tiles with an audible thump. Groaning, you rub your shoulders to try and massage away the dull throbbing ache starting in your shoulders, quickly rinsing off before stepping out of the shower. You begin to dry off, gingerly patting your aching shoulder as you try to work out what the fuck was growling outside the motel window. You immediately run through the most logical explanations in your head and conclude it was most likely a wild dog. But you can't shake the feeling that it sounded altogether too... human.

Your sleep is fitful and full of nightmares, permeated by a guttural laugh and the slobbering smacking of teeth, which your brain associates with werewolves, having you jumping out of your sleep drenched in cold sweat more than once. When you finally awaken, it is almost midday yet you're craving coffee and another year of sleep. You dress quickly, hoping to find a 7-11 with a decent coffee machine inside for your journey out amongst the landscape.

Yet again, the unnerving feeling of dread leeches into your very bones as you wander through the town, your eyes downcast to avoid the despair and misery planted on the faces of everyone you had seen thus far. You find your way to the local convenience store that, praise be, has a coffee machine, pouring yourself a strong one. As you wait for the coffee machine to work, you begin to take in your surroundings. The store, seeming almost abandoned and running low on stock on most of the shelves, sets your teeth on edge. As you look around, something catches the corner of your eye.

A red balloon.

_**What the fuck?**_ You think to yourself, observing the red balloon floating towards you. You immediately feel threatened by it, and yet compelled to reach out and grab it. As you look around to identify the owner, you notice that you are completely alone. Not even a member of staff is in the store. Your heart begins to beat a little faster as the balloon moves towards you. You step backwards as it approaches.

_**BANG!** _

It bursts in your face, shooting confetti everywhere. You shriek with fright, moving backwards into the machine that is pouring out your coffee, sending scalding coffee everywhere, including your hand. As the boiling liquid splashes over your fingers you let out a scream of pain, tears springing to your eyes instantly with the sensation.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" a gruff voice interrupts you and you spin to source the person who it belongs to, clutching your injured hand, unable to drag your eyes from the horror of watching it burn.

"I-I... spilt my coffee," you manage to whimper out as he gently takes hold of the injured appendage, inspecting the angry raw skin in a way which you begin to find pertubing.

"Ohhh, that's not good. Here, lemme help," he croons. He has an oddly singsong voice despite the baritone, reminding you somewhat of a seedy child's entertainer. He lets go of you and strides around the shop purposefully, grabbing cold bottles of water from the fridge and a small stocked first aid kit from the wall. You finally look up from gazing at your agonisingly painful hand and look at your rescuer. He is fairly lean, head and shoulders taller than you, with thick, wild red hair, piercing eyes that seem to scan the room of their own accord, shapely lips permanently curled in a knowing smile, like he alone is in on the world's funniest joke. A sharply cut suit accentuates his frame. Despite the throbbing pain in your hand, you still oberve how his movements are almost theatrical, overly exaggerated. Maybe he WAS a kid's entertainer. He moved like a clown, anyway. Not sure he'd get much work though. There was something altogether sinister about him.

"Is this your shop?" you ask him, somewhat timidly, as he opens a large bottle of the refrigerated water and gently pours it over your hand. You hiss as it hits the raw flesh, moving to pull your hand back, but it begins to take the sting away, and you find yourself relenting to his grip as he lets a slow, thin trickle of water pour over your hand, splashing onto the floor and pooling. He seems unphased by the mess, focused entirely on you.

"Oh, absolutely, darlin'. Everythin' in Derry is mine," he chuckles. "The sky, the grass and trees, the buildings, the _humanity_... it's all so delicious, don't you think?" You're unsure how to respond to that, wondering if you're being accosted by the town psych ward escapee.

"But I've never seen _your_ face around here. What'cha doing here, hm?" he questions, his piercing bright eyes finding yours. In the dingy 7-11 light you can't tell what colour his eyes are, but they look almost yellow.

"I... I-ah, I'm a meteorologist, of sorts. I'm here trying to find out if there is any atmospheric conditions affecting the weather patterns here in Derry. You guys have some crazy weather," you say, trying to keep things lighthearted despite your notable discomfort. The crazy man's lips curl wider, his teeth digging into the plump flesh of his lower lip. He rips open the first aid kit and pulls out burn salve, popping the cap and squeezing the entire tube onto your hand. _**A touch overkill**_ _,_ you think, _**but I guess it's better than nothing**_ _._ He then takes a large sterile plastic-backed burn gauze and presses it over the wound before bandaging it. The end result is sloppy but serviceable. You flex your hand, testing the movement, and admit it feels better than being exposed to the air. You manage to smile at your toothy rescuer.

"Uh, thanks, that feels much better. How much do I owe you for the stuff?" you ask, pointing to the discarded bottle on the floor and the shredded first aid kit, the rest of which he had thrown across the store with great panache. He looked at your for a second before barking out a laugh that temporarily stuns you.

"Oh, my sweet _lamb_. Money means nothin' to me, doll. You can't buy what I live for," he sings. Your heartbeat begins to climb slowly as you note a somewhat threatening undertone to his voice. He is staring intently at you, watching your throat bob as you swallow down what you were praying was fear and not a touch of something else... _**Did you just lick your own lips? For fuck's sake**_ , you admonish yourself internally. You clear your throat as the atmosphere begins to thicken.

"Uhm, well... I-I-ah, I should... you know. Get going. Lots to do, you know, this, uh... rain isn't going to measure itself," you say, taking a step back. His eyes widen and his face lights up with excitement you could almost call perverse. His smile is indulgent and sparks a jolt in your lower abdomen you struggle to ignore.

"You're measurin' _rainfall_? Well, I know just the best darn place to do it. Our storm drains are fairly easily accessible. Lemme show you," he clucks, and before you can process what he is saying, he has his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into the street, coffee and mess forgotten, immediately drenching you in an ominous sudden downpour you hadn't noticed had filled the sky.

"I- no, it's fine, I should really get going," you call over the heavy downpour. _**Jumping into a drain with a man you had never met to possibly drown?**_ _ **Eh, no thanks**_. He laughs loudly, dragging you across the street in a suddenly vice-like grip.

"What's the matter, Y/N? Are ya _scaaaaaaredy_?" he drawls, the inflection of his voice sharply rising as he pouts at your mockingly.

"Of cour- what? No, I'm not," you huff, as he lets go of you. He is drenched, eyes wild, and yet he looks alive, but with what, you couldn't fathom. He trills out a laugh, and in the blink of an eye he has slipped his lithe frame down into the drain.

"Uh, sorry, but... I'm going to go, thank you for your help," you shout over the deafening rain.

"Oh no, sweetheart. I don't think you are."

His red lips curl right up and you're horrified to see row upon row of crowded, razor sharp shark-like teeth glistening with drool. _**WHAT THE FUCK?!**_ Your mind is screaming at your limbs to move but you are paralysed to the spot with fear as a slender arm reaches out and grabs your ankle. The black suit is gone, in place a filthy old clown costume sleeve and white glove. You fall painfully onto your backside as it pulls you in and you're screaming as you're pulled into the blackness.

 

You're screeching like a banshee as you're carried through the dank, dark drains. You don't know how long you're going before you arrive in what looks like a room deep within the sewer system, one dim old industrial light casting a buttery glow through the room. Almost nest-like, your eyes slowly adjust to the near-darkness to see a musty old mattress and a battered, high-backed armchair that was probably once a fetching shade of mustard but was now molded and stank of rot. The toothy monster drops you ungracefully onto the dirty mattress with a sopping _**flop**_.

"Now princess, you're in _P_ _ennywise_ _'s lair_ , and you're gonna do as you're damn well told and like it, otherwise things gonna get a little _messy_ for you, and a lot of fun for me," growls the voice. You manage to nod, but your heart has collapsed into your feet and been replaced by suffocating fear. Words escape you, thoughts escape you, only the fear remains and you are prisoner to it. He – _**it**_ – whatever it was, he towers over you from your position on the floor. He's a clown, apparently. A bright and baggy costume in a myriad of clashing colours sits low slung on his waist over a bloody, viscera-coated vest, feet impervious to the cool cement floor that your cold mattress lay on. His eyes were dark, grin wide and painted cherry red, thick white makeup and red hair now puffed-up. He squats down in front of you, bringing up a gloved hand to cup your chin as you look at him through doe eyes. His thumb strokes your parted, trembling lip as you finally remember you have the ability to speak.

"A-a-a-are you gonna kill me?" you manage to rasp out. He chuckles darkly as his eyes begin to rake over your body.

"Oh no, princess. I ain't gonna kill ya. I mean, I can hear your heartbeat so I know you're gonna be salted so divinely," he smirks, and you're paralysed to the spot as he rips your top open, grabbing a rough handful of breast between his hand, tweaking a stiffening nipple between his fingers.

"But I can always eat. I can't always get a taste of the sweeter things in life, and I smelled your sweet pussy the second you crossed into Derry. So ripe and juicy. I can't wait to get a taste," he purrs. Your eyes widen as he hops between your legs easily before you yelp as he pulls your legs up, causing you to fall gracelessly back onto the mattress.

"Please... p-please don't," you beg. He arches an eyebrow and cackles, ignoring your pathetic pleas as he removes his gloves to reveal long, spindly digits with talon-like nails. He slides his hand up your leg, digging them into your thigh hard enough to break the skin and elicit a pained cry from your lips. He leans down over you , his dank breath hot against your ear as he grazes his teeth over your jawline, making your stomach flutter. His hand snakes into your waistband, cupping your cunt through your panties and dragging out a rough gasp from your parted lips,

"I like when you play coy, princess. But it don't wash with ol' Papa. I could practically hear your cunt achin' for me back in the shop. And I can feel your heat now.You're my plaything now, darlin... you're gonna take everythin' I wanna give ya and you're gonna enjoy it like the fucktoy you are," he growls, using a talon to shred efficiently through your jean shorts and thong in one swipe. You squeak as he rips the fabric away, exposing your slit to the air. He wasn't wrong; your clit was throbbing for everything about him, right down to his heady scent of cigars, sweet popcorn and rot. He was dangerous, there was no doubt he could grind you into mulch with those teeth, and yet you still felt a twinge every time his face broke into a languid smirk. He works his tongue down your body, tasting the tangy cocktail of fear and lust on your skin, glancing over the swell of your breasts and puffy nipples, dragging fangs down the softness of your stomach.

Taking each thigh in his hand, he pushes them wide open, settling himself theatrically between your legs. An anbormally long tongue draws from between his drooling lips and he drags his sandpaper tongue up your thigh towards your core, licking up the blood he created on your tan leg. He smacks his lips together as the salty, iron taste of your blood rolls around in his mouth, firing up his tastebuds.

"Oh, yes, you're quite the _snack_ , girly. That was a delicious appetiser. I wonder if the main course is ready?" he asks you, knowing the answer. "I tell ya what, be a good little fucktoy, and show me how wet you are," he grins wickedly, taking your small hand in his and placing it atop your own slit. Your breath is ragged with more than fear as you shakily delve into the folds of your quivering cunt, catching the betrayal of your arousal on your shaking fingers as you begin to pump your hole under his watchful gaze, your lip quivering as the pad of your fingers brush your swollen clit.

"Atta girl," he murmurs, relishing in your inner battle between discomfort and lust, watching you plumb the depths of your fuckhole. He takes your hand away, holding it triumphantly in the air, the dim light catching the reflection of your wetness on your fingers. His hungry eyes bore into yours, a pleasing laugh echoing through the room as a flush crawls up your cheeks.

"Well, would ya just look'a that, big ol' scary Papa still got the knack for finding the ripest peach in town," he quips as he wraps his lips around your fingers, taking them into his mouth one by one to clean you of your arousal, the _**pop**_ of his lips echoing through the dank room as he pops them out. His intense gaze into your eyes has your stomach burning with lust as he goes, dropping your hand as he finishes, theatrically smacking his lips with a, "Mmm-mm."

His spindly fingers find themselves wrapped around your thighs again, holding you open and exposed in a vice grip. His nest-like mane tickles your inner thighs as his hot breath causes your clit to throb anew, the fear you feel for this monstrous sewer creature melting away under your body's own burning need to feel release. His tongue unfolds again and he presses it against your whole cunt, the slightly rough texture igniting a fire in your abdomen as he _ever-so-slowly_ licks upwards, hitting every nerve in your sensitive nub with his stroke. You feel him hum his approval as he tongues your slit mercilessly, reaching every inch of you and lapping up every drop of your moistness. You feel the tip of his tongue slide inside your quivering hole as you mewl with pleasure.

"Ffff _uuuuuck_ , Penny," you moan, your toes curling as he tortuously lashes your clit with his tongue, the burning pain in your hand seemingly forgotten as your nails dig into your palms. You're already so close to the precipice of an incredible orgasm as you arch towards him. Your cry of frustration is palpable as he moves away, your hips bucking to meet him as he sits upright, a shit-eating grin sitting on his face as he licks his lips.

"Ah-ah-ah, princess. Fucktoys don't cum when _they_ want. Fucktoys cum when _Papa_ wants, and you haven't earned that just yet my pet," he chastises. "But maybe if you beg _reeeeal_ good, Papa might just let ya have your fun too." He sits back on his knees, expectantly, but in your near-orgasm state, your fuddled brain doesn't work quick enough. His eyes narrow, piercing you with fear afresh, a fear justified when he brings a hand down sharply to connect painfully with your inner thigh. You howl with the pain, feeling tears spring to your eyes.

"I'm waiting, doll," he warns, his voice a barely audible growl. You're working much faster now as you manage to choke out a plea.

"Please, P-Papa. Please let me c-cum," your voice wobbles as the now red skin on your thigh burns. He paints on a twisted smirk again, unzipping his fly and releasing a monstrous, veiny cock, the head almost painfully purple and slick with his precum, stroking himself slowly as he watches your eyes widen.

"Now that was much better, babydoll. Maybe after you've taken every inch of me I'll be inclined to let ya do just that," he purrs, grabbing you and flipping you roughly. You yelp as your face connects with the mattress, taking heady lungfuls of damp, musty fabric as Pennywise pulls your ass up, grabbing handfuls of your asscheeks. You feel his slickness coating your entrance as he rubs his tip against you, holding you firmly in place as your hips try to move to meet him.

"Can't wait for me to fill your little hole up, eh babydoll. Don'tcha worry, I'll fill you up alright. Make that cunt take every last drop," he growls, pressing his tip into your entrance slowly. You gasp as you feel just how thick he is, your cunt shuddering as he inches torturously slowly into you.

"Mmmm, babydoll, you're so wet and tight for Papa. I can't wait to stretch this little pussy open," he growls as you moan with the sensation of his thick cock stretching you further than you thought you could go as you swallow every inch of him. You feel him pressing every inch of your cunt as he's finally buried to the hilt, tears blurring your vision, but it hurts _sooo fucking_ _good_. He takes no time to allow you to adjust to the immense fullness of your core as he slowly slides all the way out of you before beginning a slow rhythm of full strokes, your walls yielding to accommodate his thickness, entrance more raw with every stroke. His thrusts become quicker as he gets into his rhythm, pulling out almost all the way before stretching you fully again. You're sweating and cursing to a God you don't believe in, whimpering with the pain and pleasure, the burning of his girth almost splitting you and the pleasure of his bulbous thick head butting up against your G-spot with every stroke. You're almost unaware of his talons breaking the skin of your ass, or the guttural growling of his own pleasure, such is the intensity of feeling in your cunt.

"You gonna let Papa pump you full, babydoll?" he pants, his pace quickening, relentlessly, not allowing you to get used to the sensation of his cock plumbing your depths in a way you've never felt before. You manage to pant out a whine by way of reply, but you know it's a rhetorical question anyway, and you're past the point of caring about anything other than the orgasm that he forces out of you with his brutal strokes, beating your fists against the mattress as you howl out his name, your walls fluttering against his cock as he rides you through the haze. You cry out as he grabs a fistful of your hair as he forces you back onto his cock, almost snapping your neck as he snarls through his own release, his seed filling you fully and dribbling down your thigh in thick ribbons. He collapses atop you, panting heavily as he finishes. You feel almost alien as he pulls out of you, an emptiness filling you where his cock was. He gets up and moves to his armchair, tucking himself back into his pants.

"Well, at least you know why it's always raining in Derry now, dollface," he purrs, and you finally chance a look at him as you sit up, trying to fashion your shredded clothes into something you won't immediately get arrested for once your legs begin working and you can take yourself out.

"What's that?" you ask. His indulgent grin cracks into a maniacal cackling laugh at his own joke.

"It's me, babydoll. I make everything wet." 


End file.
